


Neon Cowboy

by Bohemienne



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Butt Plugs, Dom Bucky Barnes, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sub Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, that Chris Evans photoshoot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9885866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemienne/pseuds/Bohemienne
Summary: Steve's undercover, but Bucky can't wait for his mission to wrap to have his man again.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ['70s Bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/266951) by inediblesushi. 



> Inspired by the Chris Evans Flaunt photoshoot (the "truck stop hooker" one) and [this '70s Bucky artwork](http://inediblesushi.tumblr.com/post/155703846326/couldnt-stop-thinkin-about-70s-bucky-last-night) by [inediblesushi](http://inediblesushi.tumblr.com), because who WOULDN'T be inspired by that.
> 
> Sorry I took pretty much a month off from writing (in the middle of this fic, no less)! Finishing work on the Stucky anthology, a death in the family, and other dayjob and writing work has kept me plenty busy. But I'm trying to get back in the groove <3

The soldier leaned into the turn, letting the motorcycle rumble beneath him, rattle through his teeth, his bones. He’d killed the headlight as soon as he turned off the highway; made his way down the twisting, tree-choked path by instinct, letting the dark, loamy nighttime air swallow him up. Almost there . . . He reached the T-junction and kicked his Harley down into first gear. Gripped the handlebars, the leather of his fingerless gloves squeaking. Then shut the motorcycle entirely as he pulled onto the muddy driveway.

Only a dull glow of light, splashed in neon shades, made it through the newspaper-covered windows on the cabin. He smiled to himself as he ditched his bike around the back of the toolshed, a smile that turned sharper as he checked his knives in his boots, his sleeves; hoisted his bag of tools off of the motorcycle and slung it over his shoulder. As he crept toward the cabin, the faint, watery sounds of classic rock swirled around him like a haze.

His target was alone. That much he’d expected. What he wasn’t prepared for was the sight, the _view_ of him the skylight offered: sprawled across a futon, shirtless, a paperback folded in one hand as he smoked with the other. Every so often he’d pause to turn the page, or take another drag, and his dark lashes, darker than his tousled hair, would flutter shut as he tipped his head back and issued a sinful ribbon of smoke from pink lips. The soldier grimaced—that sight was fierce than a fever in his veins.

Finally, the target finished his cigarette, and stood up from the futon, then disappeared into the bathroom. It was time. The soldier dropped down from the roof on cat’s feet and easily undid the lock on the front door. He pressed into a shadowy corner of the one-room cabin, knife at the ready, bag at his feet, and waited with his heart in his throat.

“ . . . Another hour? You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” his target drawled from behind the bathroom door, speaking into a crackling phone. “Tell Dale this better be the last time, or the deal’s off.” A flint striking; a throaty exhale. The soldier felt the exhale like a noose wrapping around his neck, and had to stifle a moan. “All right. One hour. Don’t fuckin’ be late this time.”

The phone cracked against the wall; water splashed in the sink. Already the soldier could imagine how his target looked, his face dampened, water dripping down his nose, his eyelashes, his filthy lips. Then finally, finally, the door clicked and opened.

His target stepped into the room, cigarette dangling from his plump lower lip. This close, it was impossible not to smell him, cedar and musky heat and a salty rind of sweat. The soldier tightened his grip on the knife handle and tried to restrain himself. Tried not to think how it would taste to lick that sweat, lick those tanned, firm muscles of his arms, his chest . . .

The target’s breath hitched.

In a blur, the soldier was on him, knife at his throat from behind, but he was ready. He reached back and lobbed the soldier over his shoulder. Sparks marred the soldier’s vision as he landed flat on his back on the futon, air knocked from his lungs. And then the target was on top of him, pinning his wrists down, knees digging into his thighs. His metal arm whined in protest, plates shifting, but the target’s grip stayed firm.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the target said. He released his wrist just long enough to pluck the cigarette from where he’d clenched it in his teeth and set it in the ashtray on the mattress.

The soldier smirked, baring his teeth. “Try and keep me away.”

The front of his leather jacket had fallen open, revealing his bare chest; with a needy groan, the target buried his face against his collarbone. “It isn’t safe, Buck.” He swirled his tongue against Bucky’s skin, his still-dewy lashes brushing at Bucky’s neck. “I’m working.”

“Then maybe you could use my help.” Bucky hoisted himself up and flipped them over, covering Steve’s body with his own. “All out here in the backwoods, no backup? You should know better.” His metal hand tightened against Steve’s own like a vise. “You don’t know what kind of monsters could be lurking here.”

Steve bit down on his lower lip. “I’ve been working this angle for a long time. They trust me. They’re bringing me into the fold.” His expression softened; when he spoke, his voice was smaller, more timid. “I don’t want you mixed up with them.”

“I’ve been plenty patient.” Bucky trailed his nose up the line of Steve’s neck; let his hot breath cascade over Steve’s ear. Steve’s hair had grown, curled at the edges; the sunshine had darkened his hair to dishwater blond and worked its alchemy on his luscious skin. “But patience’s got its limits, babe.”

Steve exhaled, his breath shaky. “I’m supposed to meet with the boss in an hour.” He shivered as Bucky’s teeth grazed his earlobe. “This is the breakthrough I need. That _SHIELD_ needs.”

“Well, then we better not waste any time.”

Bucky rolled his hips into Steve’s, reckless, and sank his teeth into the tendons of Steve’s neck, holding his grip until Steve whimpered. Then he bounded up and off the futon. Steve rolled onto his stomach, watching him as he dug in the bag; in the light from the neon bar signs that dotted the cabin walls, he looked hypnotic, kaleidoscopic.

“Buck, please. It’s not a good time.”

But Bucky tucked his tools behind his back and sidled over to the futon. Sank down, propping against the headrest, and covered them up with a scratchy blanket. Then, Steve’s eyes on him, Steve’s mouth parted, Steve’s bared chest heaving—Then Bucky pushed open his black leather jacket. He trailed his fingers, still in his biker gloves, down his own chest, his stomach, eyelids growing heavy. Metal fingers flicked open the button of his jeans, and then he eased the zipper down, slow, each tooth clicking, then stopped halfway. Just far enough for Steve to see he was going commando without giving him a glimpse of anything else.

“Your turn,” Bucky said.

Steve sat up on his knees with a whimper. “Baby, please . . .”

Something hardened in Bucky’s chest; the edge of his vision felt darker, colder. “It wasn’t a question.”

His tone came out blunt, and Steve winced back from it. For a moment, Bucky held his breath. Worried Steve would say the word to end all this. But then Steve dropped his boyish gaze, darted his tongue over his lips, and let his fingers move toward his belt buckle.

“Mm. Good boy.” Bucky reached for the cigarette Steve had left in the ashtray. “Slowly, now. No need to rush.”

Steve nodded and eased the belt strap out of the buckle with a satisfying _click_. His muscles rippled as he stretched, giving off the best view of his abdomen, his chest, softened with a thin coating of hair, and smiling shyly as he did so. Hungry as ever for praise.

Bucky swallowed, lust a dark red cloud in his thoughts. As languid as he looked, sitting against the headrest, his muscles itched to uncoil. Only his tightly clenched jaw kept him from pinning his target down now, biting him till he bled, fucking him so brutal he choked on his sobs. But that was the violence in his bones talking—never scratched out, but tamed, channeled into this focused need. He’d learned patience, and, fuck, did Steve ever reward it.

Bending one knee, Bucky exhaled a cloud of smoke in Steve’s direction. “Go on.”

Steve’s lashes fluttered again and he finished unlatching his belt. Then he unfastened the button of his torn jeans—Bucky’s eyebrow raised at the sight of one hole in particular—and eased the zipper down. Steve slid his hands inside the jean waistbands and started to move them down his hips, but then Bucky held up his hand.

“Stop there.”

Steve paused; glanced up at him expectantly. Bucky drew another breath off the cigarette and let the smoke linger in his lungs for a moment, filing off the harsher edges of his want. Then he placed it back in the ashtray and moved toward Steve.

“Hands behind your back.”

Steve did so, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. That gave Bucky a dry laugh. He ran one fingertip of his right hand down the vivid curving muscles of Steve’s shoulder, his bicep, his forearm, then came to rest where he’d crossed his wrists at the small of his back. Just above the lewd arc of his ass, barely contained even by his unfastened jeans.

“So good for me,” Bucky murmured, his mouth at the nape of Steve’s neck. “You let the folks out here in the country push you around like this?”

Steve’s cheeks went pink. “Not like this.”

“Good.” Bucky reached under the blanket and drew out a pair of handcuffs: vibranium-reinforced. At the jostle of metal, Steve’s shoulders tightened, stoking the fire in Bucky’s belly. He clicked one restraint around Steve’s wrist, then the other, careful not to touch Steve anywhere else as he did so—not so much as a glancing blow. “Don’t care how many blue road arms smugglers you’re busting. This ass? Is mine.”

At that, he shoved Steve down face-first into the futon with his left hand.

Steve gasped, and twisted his face to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. He was still on his knees, that perfectly rounded ass in the air as Bucky bent him forward. Bucky took a moment to appreciate the sight, his breath quickening, then ran his flesh hand down Steve’s haunch. Steve’s jeans were still half down his hips, revealing the waistband and a few inches of his white briefs.

“Look at you in your tidy whities.” Bucky squeezed Steve by the hips and nipped at his back, to one side of his bound hands. “Just a simple country boy, aren’t you?”

Steve grimaced, hands flexing against the cuffs. “That’s kind of the idea.”

“All mixed up with the small-town arms runners. In over your head.” He curled one finger through a belt loop of Steve’s jeans and tugged, the jeans sliding down to rest just under the crease of Steve’s ass. Bucky bit at one cheek, right along the waistband of Steve’s underwear; gnawed at it, his fingers bruising into Steve’s hips. Then slowly, slowly, he yanked the waistband lower with his mouth until it, too, cleared the swell of Steve’s ass.

“Please,” Steve whimpered.

Bucky raised one eyebrow. “Please what?”

“Please, Bucky, please just fuck me.”

The laugh rumbled deep in Bucky’s chest. “Oh, baby, you have _so_ far to go.” He kneaded his thumbs into Steve’s meaty cheeks, carefully teasing them apart. “I’m not fucking you until I’m _good_ and ready.”

He bit, fierce, at one of Steve’s cheeks—then stopped. Looked down at Steve’s face, now bright red.

“Oh, Stevie.” Bucky ran his thumb down the cleft of Steve’s ass until it came to rest on the bit of silicone jutting from his hole. “Stevie, Stevie.”

Steve’s muscles tightened. “Look . . . you’re not the only one getting impatient.”

Bucky bit him again, harder this time, then nudged the plug with his nose, ensuring it scraped inside of Steve _just_ so. Steve keened, slumping forward, until Bucky hoisted him back into position. “And what exactly were you planning with this?”

Steve’s back rose as he drew a ragged breath. “Well, before my contact set up the deal, I thought that . . . maybe I could get a secure line, give you a call . . .”

“Call me? What, and taunt me with something I can’t have?” Bucky shook his head; ground his teeth into Steve’s flesh once more. “That’s no fun. Then I couldn’t do this.”

Bucky closed his mouth around the plug’s handle and brushed it back and forth, teased it further in, then eased it back into position. Steve’s mouth rounded on a cry. “Oh, god.” Behind his back, his nails bit into his palms. “Please, Buck.”

With a laugh against Steve’s skin, Bucky bit down hard on the end of the plug and carefully worked it out. His thumbs ground into Steve’s ass as he used his teeth to pull it free, millimeter by millimeter. Steve’s cries and squirms crackled inside of him; goaded him on. Finally, he worked the plug free and spat it out onto the futon.

“Pick a number,” Bucky said.

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed as he gasped for breath. “What?”

“You heard me,” he growled.

Steve blinked, his dark lashes damp. “Okay. Um. Two.”

“Two?” Bucky repeated, and _hmm_ ed. “Disappointing. But all right.”

“All right, what?”

Bucky pushed Steve’s cheeks apart again, then bent down. Pressed his tongue against the back of Steve’s balls, still bunched up in the front of his briefs. With a smirk, he lapped his way back up toward his stretched-out hole and traced a quick circle around the rim. “That’s how many times you’re gonna come without me touching your cock.”

“Jesus.” Steve flexed his fingers in the cuffs. “Please, Bucky.”

Bucky nudged at Steve’s hole with his metal thumb while his right hand rubbed slow circles at the small of his back. “What is it you want, baby?”

“Your dick,” Steve whimpered. “Please.”

Bucky reached forward and brushed the fingers of his right hand along the fine bones of Steve’s cheek, his jaw. He dipped two fingers against Steve’s wet lips, and with a grateful sigh, Steve lapped at them, drew them into his mouth up to the knuckle where the fingerless gloves began, suckled at them. Bucky’s thumb brushed the outside of his smooth cheek while Steve sucked at his fingers.

“I never said you were going to come on my dick.” Bucky pulled his hand back, leaving Steve’s lips gaping. “But maybe, if you’re good . . .”

He spread Steve open and pushed the tip of his tongue inside him.

“Oh, fuck.” Steve’s hips bucked forward. “Oh, god, fuck me, please—”

Bucky slapped his metal hand against Steve’s ass and drove his tongue deeper. Steve tasted earthy, rich—tasted of everything Bucky had missed and ached for while he’d been on this assignment. And the way he squirmed as Bucky dragged his tongue through him, licked him out, stroked against his prostate—divine.

“Buck, god, I’m so close—”

Bucky curled his right hand down between Steve’s thighs and pushed at his perineum while he fucked Steve with his tongue, let Steve’s languid, throaty moans match the pounding of his own pulse. Then Steve was sobbing, hands clenched in fists, his muscles locking up. Bucky kept working his tongue inside him, biting outside his hole to drive himself in deeper, savoring the pulse that echoed through Steve’s body, until Steve gave out and he sagged forward.

“There’s a good boy.”

Bucky eased back onto his heels, then tugged Steve’s jeans down further. Even from behind, he could see the sticky mess Steve had made of his briefs, strands of come trailing from his half-hard dick. The dark urge pounded in his veins, but he swallowed it down. He wanted to lick up Steve’s mess—make Steve lick up his own mess. But he had better ideas.

“You gonna keep this hole open for me, baby?” Bucky dragged his thumb in a slow circle along the rim of Steve’s hole.

Steve managed a nod against the mattress, his face deep scarlet and his lips slack and drooling.

“Good. C’mere, then.” Bucky scooted back to his original position, propped up against the headboard, arms slung back. He ran his tongue around his lips, savoring the lingering taste of Steve still on him. “You’ve got some work to do.”

Steve had pulled himself back to some level of composure, his eyelids heavy still. Working his muscled shoulders from side to side, he managed to push himself up onto his knees, body angled in Bucky’s direction. And there was the sight Bucky had wanted: that dewy mouth, that bared chest sheened with sweat, those chiseled abs, and then, that dripping cock, just barely free of his jeans. The unfastened buckle of Steve’s belt clanked as he walked on his knees toward Bucky, then looked at him expectantly through thick lashes.

Bucky regarded him for a moment. “Well?” He gestured toward his partially undone jeans. “My cock isn’t going to slick up itself.”

Steve smirked. “Might need my hands for that, baby.” He rooted around with his foot, aimlessly seeking the bottle of lube Bucky had tossed onto the mattress.

But Bucky snatched him by the chin. Dragged Steve’s face toward his own, and let his nails bite into the firm line of Steve’s jaw. With his flesh hand, Bucky plucked up a fresh cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, then fumbled with a lighter, keeping Steve’s face inches from his own all the while. Finally, he lit the cigarette and puffed it to life in Steve’s face.

“I think you know goddamn well how to do it without your hands,” Bucky finally said.

Steve laughed, wry, and glanced down. “If you insist.”

“I do.” Bucky held his gaze for a moment longer, then released him. Resumed his casual pose.

Steve wriggled back to sit on his heels and bent forward. His tongue darted out, tentative, against Bucky’s stomach, and Bucky made a soft sound that belied the fierce, jagged fire building inside of him. Squirming his way further down the mattress, Steve nipped and kissed his way lower, along the trail of dark hair that vanished into Bucky’s half-zipped jeans. Steve opened his mouth, then closed his teeth around the jeans waistband before looking up at Bucky with those doe eyes burning.

Bucky nodded, chest tight, skin electric.

Steve tugged at the waistband, trying to work it down, but Bucky refused to lift up his hips to help Steve’s efforts. With a dry laugh, Steve kissed at the exposed triangle of skin, the downy hair, from Bucky’s partially unzipped fly, then used his tongue to flick the zipper pull up into his teeth. Bucky’s stomach tensed. Finally, Steve began to work the zipper the rest of the way down, haltingly, torturously slow; but at last he’d made it, and finally some of Bucky’s thick shaft was exposed to the air, though most of it remained uncomfortably tucked inside his jeans.

“There you are,” Steve murmured, glancing at Bucky through his lashes. He flicked his tongue across Bucky’s dick, and Bucky’s metal hand clenched into a fist.

“Gonna take care of me?” Bucky asked. He spoke softer, but the weight in his voice remained.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, baby, I’m gonna do my best.”

It took Steve some effort, but he managed to nudge apart the opening of Bucky’s jeans with his mouth enough that Bucky’s cock unfurled from its restraint. Bucky sucked in air through his teeth, straining to contain his relief. Steve laughed to himself. Cheeky fuck. So Bucky laced his fingers through Steve’s soft hair and yanked his head up.

“Do it right, baby,” Bucky growled. “Act like you enjoy it.”

Steve whimpered, twisting against Bucky’s grip. “I _love_ it.”

“You sure about that?” Bucky asked.

With heavy eyes, Steve nodded.

“Good.” Bucky tipped Steve’s head back further; brought Steve’s face to his own. “Good. Better prove it, then.”

Steve ran his tongue over his lower lip, like he was giving Bucky a taste. In response, Bucky forced his mouth onto Steve’s, biting, licking his way past Steve’s lips, forcing Steve to taste himself all over Bucky’s mouth. He shuddered at first, but melted quickly into Bucky’s kiss, a quivering mess of gleaming muscle and doey eyes.

Bucky yanked Steve back just as abruptly and stared at him for a long second, then dropped him back down to get to work.

Steve lapped a slow stripe up the underside of Bucky’s cock, leaving behind a warm trail of spit and sending pleasure crackling through Bucky’s body. Gradually, he worked his tongue along the crown of Bucky’s head, flicking and darting as he went, then settled his rounded lips down onto the tip. As he worked, he glanced up at Bucky from between his lashes, that boyish innocent look of his a goddamn poison in Bucky’s veins.

“That’s a good boy,” Bucky said, his voice thick as his whole body centered on the feel of Steve’s mouth. “Keep going. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Steve hummed around his cock, the sound throbbing deep in Bucky’s bones, and he groaned and tipped his head back against the wall. His metal hand tightened and unfurled a fist as Steve began to glide his lips up and down, up and down, letting the back of his mouth bump against Bucky’s head, until finally he worked his knees around to fix his angle and sank even further.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed. “C’mon, baby. You can do it.”

Steve smiled around him, but then hollowed out his cheeks, sucking in, and Bucky had to tense his muscles to keep from losing himself in the intense feeling. He held his breath—one, two—then snatched the bottle of lube up from the mattress as Steve continued. He flipped the cap open and squeezed some onto his metal fingers before slipping his hand toward the split of Steve’s ass.

“C’mon, take it all. I know you’re hungry for it, baby.”

Steve murmured in agreement, then whimpered softly as Bucky pushed the lube into his hole. He paused a moment, bracing himself, then swirled his tongue around Bucky’s dick as he drew him deeper and deeper down his throat.

“You hard for me again, baby?” Bucky asked, his voice husky, scraped raw. He felt like the air before a storm, heavy with energy ready to crash down. Steve managed a faint nod as his throat closed up; his nostrils flared. With his free hand, Bucky stroked Steve’s soft cheek. “You gonna come for me again?”

Steve’s lashes flashed with a sharp inhale of his breath, and he nodded again.

“That’s my baby.” Bucky laughed low. A dark fire smoldered in him after too long left cold. “Been too long, hasn’t it?”

Steve winced and nodded once more. His tongue wrapped around Bucky’s shaft as he gave him another forceful suck.

“Fucking hell.” Bucky gritted his teeth; fought to pull himself together. He counted backwards—three, two, one. And then he shoved Steve off of him, gripped him by his hips, and pulled him into his lap.

“Please,” Steve whined. “Please fuck me.”

Bucky laughed, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s throat. Steve looked so perfectly broken, jeans shoved down to his knees, face sheened with sweat, and then those lashes, _fuck_. Bucky shoved Steve’s jeans and underwear down further, just enough that he could straddle Bucky comfortably, then reached around Steve and nestled his erection against the cleft of Steve’s ass, then stopped there, watching Steve with a smirk. As good as he looked wrecked like this, he looked even better wrecked _and_ desperate.

Steve rocked his hips down with another impatient keen. “Please, Buck. I’ll be so good.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve never been well-behaved in your goddamned life.”

Bucky lifted him up by the hips, curled his own hips forward, then slowly settled Steve down onto the tip of his cock. Steve struggled, trying to sink further down, but Bucky held him in place, servos whirring in his arm as he locked eyes with Steve. “Look at me,” Bucky said, his tone firm. “I want to see you.”

Steve’s lips parted and he locked eyes with him, blue and green barely visible around his widened pupils, hungry and dark. Bucky’s throat tightened at the sight, at the hunger echoed in his own blood.

Finally, he eased Steve down around him until he bottomed out with a grunt.

Steve made a slurred cry, back arching, and tensed around Bucky’s cock. And, god, Bucky’d missed this more than he even realized—this warmth gripping him, this man, this moment face to face with him as he wrung every last filthy and sweet sound from Steve that he could. He lifted Steve up a fraction before slamming him back down, drawing another moan, then began a brutal pace, Steve pushing down onto him as he thrust upward, their cries matching the rush of blood in his ears.

He needed this, he needed _Steve_ , and hadn’t he gone long enough with him? During this mission, during this lifetime, during _all_ their lifetimes across two centuries. Bucky snarled as the first edge of orgasm spiked through him, but he held it off. Steve deserved more, and he craved more. He would never get his fill of this man, no matter what role he was playing—the pure Captain America, the shady undercover operative, or the Steve Rogers who only he really knew, the one who begged and begged for Bucky’s dick.

“Oh, god, Buck. Fucking feels so good . . .”

Bucky bit down on the luscious mound of Steve’s tit in front of him and flicked his tongue across the nipple. There was too _much_ inside him and no way to get it all out as he mouthed at Steve and fucked him and ground bruises into Steve’s hips with his fingers. Steve’s cries hitched as Bucky nipped at him once more, but Bucky kept his pace, thrusting up, bringing Steve down, Steve’s hot, slick hole squeezing him, driving him mad.

“Shit,” Steve hissed. “Oh, fuck.”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Come on my dick, baby.”

And then Steve was arching back, shouting as he came, thick streaks of come painting Bucky’s bared chest. Bucky fucked him through it, refusing to slow down, not while he was on the edge, too. Steve ground his teeth, his flushed lips pulled back, as his orgasm subsided and his shoulders rolled.

And that’s what did it—that look of pure bliss, complete surrender, on Steve’s face. Burying his teeth in Steve’s flesh, he pumped up into Steve one last time and growled as the burning fire inside him finally tore free. He shook with beautiful, static emptiness, eyes rolling back, and slumped backward onto the headrest.

Bucky’s eyelids fluttered as he came back to himself. Steve was hunched over him, pressing open-mouthed, languid kisses on his cheek, his temple. Bucky ducked his head to guide Steve’s mouth back to his and licked into him, then rolled Steve off of him and onto his back, Bucky sprawled on top of him.

“I love you,” Steve exhaled.

Bucky laughed, forehead sagging against Steve’s. “You fucking better.”

He fished around for the keys to the handcuffs and helped Steve get free. Steve stood, come and lube dripping down the backs of his thighs, and tossed Bucky a sly look over his shoulder as Bucky rolled onto his back. “I’ve _got_ to meet with my contact. Like, now,” he said, heading toward the bathroom to clean off. “You gonna be here when I get back?”

“If you’re gonna keep walking around looking the way you do?” Bucky smiled lazily. “You fucking bet I am.”

Steve sauntered back toward him and crouched to plant an upside-down kiss on his lips. “If I’m lucky, I can wrap this op up tonight. Then I can come home.”

 _Home._ Bucky shivered. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“No promises. But I’ll do what I can.” His lashes glinted, dewy, in the neon lights. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky said. And with a contented sigh, he drifted off to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on tumblr to cry about sad grandpa supersoldiers](http://starandshield.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Neon Cowboy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12168774) by [Bohemienne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemienne/pseuds/Bohemienne), [thatsmysecret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmysecret/pseuds/thatsmysecret)




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